


Hidden Away

by Serena_chan



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, First Kiss, First Time, Grimm Kink Meme, M/M, Spells & Enchantments, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-05-15
Packaged: 2017-10-29 06:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serena_chan/pseuds/Serena_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From this <a href="http://grimm-kink.dreamwidth.org/1735.html?thread=366791#cmt366791">prompt</a> on the <a href="http://grimm-kink.dreamwidth.org">Kink Meme</a>:</p><p>Monroe/Nick - amnesia</p><p>He doesn't know who he is or where he is or what he's doing, but this house, this man seemed like the only right place to go.</p><p>Or: An encounter with a creature leaves Nick without his memories. After wandering around aimlessly his feet carry him to Monroe's place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Just a short prologue to start off with - more to follow!
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I own nothing and make no profit.

_"...she gave him a kiss, and he forgot everything which had happened, and also what he was about to do."_

~ _The Two Kings' Children_ (Grimm's Fairy Tales)

 

He stumbled over another tree root in his haste. All he could hear over his own haggard breathing and the pounding of his heart was that horrible shrieking laughter. It echoed all around him, causing him to spin on his heels. He couldn't tell which direction it was coming from. He just knew he had to get away from it.

He ran until his lungs felt ready to burst, and his pulse was beating in his ears like a drum. The laugh seemed to follow him, and he briefly wondered if he was running in circles - the trees covered in green moss, the tall plants and thorny brambles; it all looked the same in the haze of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

After what seemed like an eternity, he reached a path. He didn't know where he was going, but a path had to lead somewhere, right? Hopefully it was out of these godforsaken woods.

He practically sobbed in relief when he saw a break in the trees ahead. The cackling laughter seemed to be fading the closer he got to freedom.

At last he burst into the sunlight, and found himself facing a road with a light blue house on the other side. He was sure that he'd never seen that house before in his life, and yet the same word kept flashing across his brain as he stared at it: _safe, safe, SAFE!_

He charged across the street with only one goal in mind - get to the house. The house was safe.

Running up the paved walkway, he tripped on the wooden steps and landed in an undignified heap on the front porch. He pressed his face against the wood, drawing air into lungs that felt like they were on fire. Blessed relief quickly replaced the adrenaline, making him feel weak and oh so tired. Darkness tugged at the edges of his vision, and he finally surrendered himself to it.


	2. Chapter 2

Monroe pulled into his driveway, muttering about stupid weathermen and wrong forecasts.  At least he only had two bags of groceries to carry in, but that meant he'd have no hands free for his umbrella.

"'Bright and sunny all day,' my ass," he grumbled as cold rain soaked through his shirt.  Making his way quickly to the house, he stopped short on the front porch at the sight that awaited him. 

Nick Burkhardt was leaning against his door, knees drawn up to his chest, looking wet and utterly miserable.  A wallet - presumably Nick's - was out and the contents scattered around him. 

"Hey," Monroe said.  "What happened to you?"

The detective jumped to his feet and stared at him, gray/blue eyes wide and imploring.  "Do you know me?"

"Well, yeah," the Blutbad huffed, fumbling for the keys to his front door.  "Unless you know some other Grimm who's been making himself a regular pain in my ass these last few months." 

"Grimm?" Nick stared at him, utterly confused, before bending down and picking up one of the cards that had been laid out.  "Is that my name?  Then, who is 'Nick Burkhardt'?  Isn't this me?"

He held out his driver's license for inspection.  Monroe gave it a cursory glance before shoving it back at him. 

"Of course it is.  Nick, what the hell's wrong with you?" 

"I don't know," he moaned, slumping back down and gazing forlornly at the various identification and bank cards scattered around him.  "I don't _remember_."

"Don't remember what?" Monroe demanded, feeling a nasty sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach. 

"Anything!" Nick exclaimed.  "I can't remember anything!  I don't know who I am, or what I'm doing here.  Nothing!" 

"Oh, man," the older man groaned to himself.  "Why me?" 

To Nick, he said, "Look, just put all that back in your wallet, and get inside.  We'll figure out where to go from there, okay?" 

He could hear the detective scrambling to comply while he unlocked his front door.  Leading Nick into his home, he gestured toward his sofa. 

"I need to put this stuff away before the milk spoils," Monroe explained, indicating he grocery bags he was still carrying.  "Stay here, and - and don't touch anything!  Got it?"

Hurrying into his kitchen, the Blutbad tossed the bags carelessly on the island counter and forced himself to take a deep breath. 

There could be any number of reasons for memories to simply disappear - the easiest being amnesia.  A hard blow to the head could do it, although his experiences with Nick the past few months had taught him that the detective had a surprisingly hard head.  Still, there was no reason for it to be Grimm-related, right?

 _Riiiiight_ , Monroe thought sarcastically to himself as he put the milk away and slammed the refrigerator door savagely. 

With Nick's luck, that was exactly what had happened, and that left endless possibilities open.  Supposedly there were numerous spells and curses that could be cast to remove anything from a single memory to well, everything.  His great aunt had once claimed to know someone who had been turned into a vegetable because a curse had made them forget even their basic motor skills.  Still, this was also the great aunt who had claimed to know someone who'd been turned into an actual vegetable - a rhubarb of all things! - so there was really no telling how reliable any of her information was. 

Then there were these spirit-like creatures known only as Gedächtnis that supposedly fed on memories.  How much time you lost was apparently proportional to exactly how hungry the thing was.  He'd never actually _seen_ one himself, of course, but then he'd never seen a Grimm either until the younger man had come barreling into his life - quite literally if memory served. 

Giving himself a shake, he knew that he'd have to do something other than wracking his brain for every story, myth, or half-truth he'd ever heard on memory loss.  Striding purposefully into his living room, he found the other man sitting on the couch.  He opened his mouth to ask (rather sarcastically) if Nick wasn't simply having him on, but stopped short when sorrowful eyes turned toward him in an expression that could only be described as 'lost.' 

With a deep sigh, Monroe knew that they were well-and-truly screwed.


	3. Chapter 3

"Don't worry," Monroe said with enforced cheerfulness, trying to wipe the distraught look off Nick's face.  "We'll figure this out.  Now, what do you remember?"

"I was... in the woods, I think," the younger man said slowly.  "I'm not sure what I was trying to get away from, but I was running from something...  No, some _one_.  I could hear someone laughing, but I couldn't tell where it was coming from.  I just knew that I had to get away from it.  I ran until I got out of the woods, and I saw your house.  I'm still not sure why, but I knew I'd be safe here." 

Monroe resisted the urge to roll his eyes.  A Grimm knowing he'd be safe with a blutbad?  Nick really was an idiot.  Although he couldn't deny the warm feeling that settled in his stomach; the same feeling he got every time Nick said that he trusted him. 

Shoving those feelings firmly aside where they belonged, he said, "All right.  Well, my name's Monroe.  I guess you could say that we're friends."

"You guess?"

"Sometimes I help you out on one of your cases.  You work for the police."

"I'm a cop?" Nick asked, skeptically.  "Are you sure?  I didn't find a badge when I went through my pockets."

Monroe sighed.  "I guess that means that you're missing your gun, too?"  When Nick nodded, he asked, "Did you find anything else besides your wallet on you?"

He watched as the younger man dug through each pocket of his jeans and leather jacket.  In the end, all he had was his wallet, his keys, a handful of change, and his cellphone. 

"At least you still have this," Monroe said, plucking the phone out of Nick's hand.  He looked through the call history and saw that the last number dialed was his own, cementing his belief that this must be something Grimm-related. 

"Looks like the last call you made was to me.  Damn, of all the days to forget my phone!"  He stopped, thinking.  "Maybe you left a message on my voice mail.  Hang on, I'll be right back, okay?" 

Monroe quickly dashed up the stairs to his bedroom, grabbing the annoying piece of technology off his nightstand where he'd left it.  As he suspected, a little box popped up informing him that yes, he did have a message. 

 _Crap,_ Monroe thought as he pressed 'play.'  _If I'd just had my damn phone we might not be in this mess._

 _'Hey, Monroe.  It's Nick_ ,' Nick's voice said in his ear.  _'I need your help with something.  Give me a call when you get this, okay?  It's pretty important_.'

"Well, that was categorically unhelpful," Monroe muttered, stomping back down the stairs. 

He let Nick listen to the message anyway, hopeful that just hearing it would jog his memory.  The detective listened to it once, and then asked to hear it again.  The second time he kept his eyes closed and his forehead scrunched up in concentration. 

"Well?" Monroe said finally. 

"I don't remember anything..."

"Of course not," Monroe grumbled.

 " _But_ ," Nick gave him a look that clearly said that he wasn't finished, "in the background I could hear a car door slamming.  It was really close so it was probably me closing my car door.  Wait, I do have a car, don't I?  I mean, I have a driver's license."

"Yeah, you have a car.  Not that I see it much.  Whenever we go somewhere we always end up taking _my_ car.  Not that you ever pay me for the gas, mind you..." He trailed off from the rant he was working up to when he saw the confused look on the detective's face.  "You know what?  We'll have this argument when you can actually remember what I'm talking about."

"Did you see my car parked anywhere around here when you came home?" Nick asked. 

"No," Monroe said slowly, thinking back.  "I don't think so."

"Well, if we can find my car, then we'll know where I entered the woods, and we already know that I came out of them across from your house."  He paused, thinking.  "Who owns that property, by the way?"

"The city, I guess.  It's a public park, but it's massive.  Even if we found your car, there's no way of knowing how far into the woods you went."

Nick bit his bottom lip thoughtfully.  "I remember looking at my watch while I was sitting outside your house.  It was about 3:00pm then.  What time did I leave you the message?"

Monroe quickly scrolled through his incoming call history.  "1:30."

"An hour and a half.  That gives us a rough window of time when I could have entered the woods.  We know I wasn't there yet because I was obviously still with my car." 

"That and cell reception is pretty bad out there," Monroe commented, trying not to sound too impressed. 

Even with no memories, Nick was still a detective.  He spared a brief moment to wonder if the younger man had always been like this even as a kid.  He'd have to ask him about that if - No, _when_ they got his memory back. 

"Do you have something to drink?" Nick asked, shaking him out of his reverie. 

"Uh, yeah.  I could make some coffee or some tea.  There's also water or milk, of course," Monroe said, trying to remember what was in his fridge.  "I've got some beer, too, but I'm not sure you should be drinking in your - er, 'condition.'"

"Water would be great, thanks," he said with one of those small, sweet smiles that always managed to do something funny to Monroe's insides. 

Retreating back to his kitchen, the blutbad took a moment to consider what would happen if they didn't manage to recover Nick's memories in one day.  Clearly he'd be missed at work unless he called in sick.  He'd have to find Hank's number in Nick's phone, and then school the younger man on what to say. 

 _At least Juliette won't be an issue_ , Monroe thought darkly.  Nick's pretty girlfriend had apparently decided that she couldn't handle being a cop's wife after that ogre had broken into their house.  Not that Monroe could really blame her, of course, but it had definitely tore Nick up in a pretty big way.  He'd even confessed drunkenly to Monroe the night after she left that he'd been gearing up to propose. 

Snagging a couple of bottles of water out of the refrigerator, he made his way back to his friend.  As he handed one of the bottles over, however, he remembered something. 

"Nick, doesn't your jacket have an inner pocket?" 

"I don't know," the younger man said, pulling his jacket off and examining it.  "Yeah, right here on the left side." 

Grabbing the jacket from him, Monroe stuffed his hand into the pocket and triumphantly pulled out a small black journal.  (He really should have remembered it sooner.  After all, how many times had he seen Nick scribbling notes or sketching pictures in the damn thing.)  Grinning, he held the notebook out for the other man to inspect.

"This," he said excitedly, "might solve all our problems."


	4. Chapter 4

"What is it, some kind of journal?" Nick asked, gazing at the book in Monroe's hands questioningly.    
  
"Something like that," Monroe was already thumbing through the pages looking for the last entry.  "You keep notes and sketches in here relating to cases.  Here we go."    
  
_Jan. 21st - Six people formerly missing have turned up over the last few days at the hospital with amnesia.  They suffered no injuries, and brain scans show no signs of trauma.  Doctors unable to explain loss of memories.  At least four were confirmed to be hiking in the park when they went missing.  There is some speculation among medical professionals that something in the environment could be a factor.  Possible Grimm situation?_  
  
Further down the page was written: _Witch?_ and even further down were the words _Walnut Tree!_ underlined twice.    
  
Monroe frowned, "Looks like these last bits were written in a hurry.  Still, I suppose it gives us something to go on.  Maybe."    
  
Nick was looking over his shoulder, pure confusion on his face.  "What does it mean by 'witch'?" he asked.  "And a 'Grimm situation'?  Is that code for something?"  
  
Monroe closed the book with a snap, cursing his own stupidity.  Nick had lost his memories - of course he wouldn't remember being a Grimm!  Which also meant that he had no idea Monroe was a Blutbad.  Crap.    
  
He eyed the younger man critically, mind racing with how to go about explaining things.  He hadn't been there when Nick's aunt had told him about the creature world, nor had he been there when Nick had first started seeing creatures for what they really were.  He had no idea how he'd react, especially if Monroe wolfed-out on him by accident.    
  
Wait.  Actually, yeah, he did remember how that went.  The younger man had pinned him against his own stairs and accused him of kidnapping.    
  
Wincing inwardly, Monroe said as calmly as he could, "Look maybe you'd better sit down for this."  
  
"What is it?"  Nick did sit but looked far more interested and alert rather than relaxed.    
  
"Look, you know the Brothers Grimm?  The ones that wrote the fairy tales?  Well, the thing is - and I know this is going to sound nuts, believe me - the thing is they're real.  The creatures that they wrote about, the spells and enchantments, they all actually happened - _are_ still happening to a certain degree, although don't get me started on all the things they got wrong..."    
  
He trailed off to see if his words were having any impact.  The look on Nick's face was dubious to say the least.  
  
Heaving a sigh and raking a hand through his hair, he tried a different tact.  "Maybe it's best if I just show you.  Just...don't freak out, okay?"  Red was already bleeding into his vision as he loosened the reins on his carefully kept restraint and let the wolf surge forward.    
  
Nick yelped and slid off the couch, staring up at the Blutbad from a heap on the floor, mouth agape and eyes wide.  He stayed that way for several seconds, and Monroe was just beginning to think it was time to shift back and start murmuring platitudes, when Nick slowly got to his feet.  Keeping their eyes locked on one another, the detective took a slow step forward.  He raised a slightly shaky hand and hesitantly touched Monroe's cheek with the tips of his fingers as though trying to make sure what he was seeing was real.  His fingers trailed down to the Blutbad's prominent facial hair and then up toward the curved point of his ear.    
  
All the while, tiny shivers were running down Monroe's spine.  Nick had never touched him before while he was shifted, and it felt as though small shocks of electricity were trailing along his skin in the wake of the detective's touch.  The younger man's wrist brushed his nose as he traced a line along the wolf's prominent brow line, and god did he smell good!  Monroe suppressed the whine that was rising in his throat and forced himself to shift back before he did something stupid.    
  
Nick was gazing at him with something akin to wonder as the Blutbad's skin shifted under his fingers.  He let his hand linger once more on the other man's cheek as he asked, "What are you?"  
  
Swallowing hard, Monroe reluctantly stepped back and cleared his throat.  He'd always liked the way Nick smelled, but the combination of the other man's touch combined with his scent was seriously messing with his ability to form worlds.  
  
"I'm a Blutbad.  A wolf."  
  
The detective grinned, "Like the 'Big Bad Wolf'?"  
  
"Technically, yes," Monroe admitted, a little confused with Nick's immediate acceptance.  He thought he'd have to spend the next hour or so reassuring Nick that he wasn't going to eat him.  "Doesn't that worry you?"  
  
Those beautiful eyes swept over him thoughtfully for a moment before the younger man shook his head.  "No, it doesn't.  I mean, if it were someone else then yeah, maybe it would, but it's...you.  I don't know why, but I knew I could trust you the second I saw you.  Just like I knew I'd be safe the moment I saw your house."  
  
The Blutbad shook his head in exasperation, even as his heart was suddenly pounding in his chest with hope.  "Man, you really have no self-preservation instincts at all, do you?"    
  
He turned away and fiddled aimlessly with the nearest clock he could put his hands on, trying to get himself under some semblance of control.  The wolf inside was whispering to him that Nick no longer remembered anything about them and their relationship...or rather the lack thereof.  It would be so very easy to say that they were more than friends, and the detective would probably believe him.    
  
No, damn it!  Nick _trusted_ him, and he was _reformed_.  He could never betray him like that, no matter how much his more primal side wanted him to.    
  
Nick coughed uncomfortably from somewhere behind him.  "So...  I'm guessing if - what did you say you were?  Blutbad?  I'm guessing if you're real, then witches are real, too.  Know any witches in the area?"  
  
Monroe let out a dark chuckle, "If I did, I'd have been roasted on a spit by now rather than standing here talking to you."  He turned back to face the other man, frowning.  "No, that's not fair.  There is a witch here in Portland that I know of, but she's reformed, like me.  She doesn't cast spells anymore, and I'm not sure she was ever the same kind of witch that ate humans and other creatures."  
  
"But she would know about them, wouldn't she?" Nick pressed.    
  
"It's not like I actually know her," Monroe protested.  "I just heard about her through a friend."    
  
_Hap_ , he thought sadly.  The man had been so friendly, everyone had liked him.  
  
"Okay, then we'll use her as a last resort," Nick said.  "I think our first step should be to find my car."    
  
"Fine, then we'll take my car to do it."  _And use up_ more _of my gas_ , his inner-self bitched.  "There's only a few entrances to the woods with decent parking.  It shouldn't take us too long."


	5. Chapter 5

In the end, it only took them about an hour to locate Nick's car.  Once they did, the detective insisted on doing a thorough search of the vehicle, even going so far as to take a flashlight that he'd found in the glove box and shine it under each and every seat.  The end result was rather disappointing.  
  
"Well, unless a half-empty Starbucks cup counts as a clue, then this has been a total waste of time," Monroe grumbled.    
  
"At least we know where I entered the woods," Nick countered, heading off in the direction of the nearest path.    
  
Monroe's hand shot out to grip his arm, "And just where do you think you're going?"  
  
"Uh, the woods," the younger man said in a tone that said the answer should have been obvious.  
  
"Are you kidding me?  There's barely any daylight left.  I am not going tramping around the woods with you at night."  
  
"Why not?  I've got a flashlight," Nick said, holding it up.  
  
"That's not the point!" Monroe said.  "Nighttime is when the more sinister members of the creature world come out to play.  Being a Blutbad, I don't exactly have to worry about that, but you do.  We go now, and I'll be too busy protecting your sorry ass to look for any clues we might find."  
  
Nick looked for a moment like he was going to argue, but then slumped his shoulders in defeat.  "Tomorrow morning, then?"   
  
"Bright and early," Monroe confirmed.  "Right after my pilates, that is."  
  
Nick followed Monroe back to his house in his own car, after assuring the older man that he did indeed remember how to drive.  When both cars were parked side by side in Monroe's driveway, they made their way inside once more, and Monroe began to contemplate what he was going to make them for dinner.    
  
"So on the way back here, I was thinking," Nick began.  
  
"Well that's dangerous," Monroe snarked, already digging through his cupboards.    
  
"I was just wondering about this whole creature thing.  Can other people see you when you shift?"  
  
The Blutbad sighed as he began pulling out pots and pans.  "Most people can't see us.  You can because you're a Grimm."  
  
"A Grimm?"  
  
"Named rather appropriately after the Brothers Grimm, probably the most famous of all Grimms.  They're the ones that first started profiling us with their 'stories.'"  He set a pot of water to boil, keeping one eye on his companion.  "Grimms are people who can see creatures for what they really are.  As a kid, I used to hear all kinds of horror stories about Grimms hunting down and slaughtering our kind just because we're different, but... you're not like that.  You only hunt down the bad ones, and even then you try to arrest them rather than killing."  
  
"I guess being a cop comes in handy for that," Nick said with a crooked smile.    
  
"Yeah, I suppose most of your ancestors didn't have that option, like your Aunt Marie.  I think you once mentioned that she was a librarian, of all things!  Killing would have been her only recourse in ensuring that the bad ones would be stopped."  Monroe added the noodles to the boiling water and turned to face his friend.  "Watching you these last couple of months, I sometimes wonder if you're what Grimms are supposed to be like.  The policemen of the creature world rather than the hunters and murderers many of them have become over the years."    
  
"Then, I do okay?" Nick asked hesitantly, a slight blush on his cheeks that Monroe refused to admit was cute.  
  
"You do great," he replied, turning back to his cooking so that the detective wouldn't be able to read the emotions he was sure were showing on his face.    
  
It wasn't until he was dishing up two plates of fettuccine Alfredo that Monroe realized he'd once again forgotten about Nick's job.    
  
"You'll have to call in sick to work," he told the Grimm.  "There's no way you'll be protecting the citizens of Portland in your condition, and we still haven't found your badge or gun yet."  
  
"Work.  Right," Nick said, twirling some noodles with his fork.  "What do I need to know?"  
  
"Well, your partner's name is Hank.  He's probably the one you should call, and he'll take care of it.  He seems like a pretty nice guy.  I'm sure his number's stored in your phone.  Your boss is Captain Renard..."    
  
Nick looked up at his dining companion.  Monroe had looked for a second like he was going to say more but had stopped himself.    
  
"What about Renard?"  
  
Monroe sighed, "I dunno.  I've only met the once, but it almost felt like there was something...off about him.  I mean, if he were part of the creature community, I'm sure you'd have seen something by now unless he's really, _really_ good at hiding himself.  Still, something about him gave me the creeps."  
  
The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, only interrupted by Nick occasionally complimenting the food.    
  
As he cleared the table, Monroe said, "The sofa pulls out into a bed.  I'll get you some blankets and pillows as soon as I'm finished washing up."  
  
"Let me do that," Nick insisted.  "You cooked."  
  
"And _you_ might break something," Monroe snarked.  "I don't think so, man."  
  
"Am I really that clumsy?" the younger man asked.    
  
The Blutbad bit back a retort as he realized that this was a genuine question rather than their usual back-and-forth exchange.  "No, you're not, but I'm very particular about how things are stacked in my dishwasher.  You'd only mess it up."    
  
Nick threw up his hands in defeat and retreated into the living room.  He saw his black notebook laying out on the coffee table and settled down to flip through it.    
  
Monroe was inwardly kicking himself as he finished loading the dishwasher.  He'd definitely have to tone it down on the sarcasm until Nick was back to normal.  He couldn't have the Grimm taking everything he said literally.    
  
He took a moment to collect himself before going to his linen cupboard to hunt down some clean sheets.  It was hard seeing Nick like this - okay, it was also kind of fascinating, too.  He was so...open, and definitely more likely to tell Monroe what he was really thinking.    
  
Still, he missed _his_ Nick.  The one who would have correctly interpreted his sarcastic 'you might break something' into what he really meant, 'No thanks, man, I got it.'  
  
He carried the sheets and quilt into the living room and found Nick absorbed in his journal.    
  
"Any of that ringing any bells?" he asked, though not very hopefully.    
  
Nick shook his head.  "Nope.  Although this seems to be a recurring theme."   
  
Monroe peered over his shoulder to where he was pointing at the page.  In bold lines at the bottom it said: ' _Trust your instincts!_ '  
  
"I seem to write that a lot," the detective said, flipping through the book.  "It's like it's supposed to be a reminder of something."  
  
"It's what your aunt told you," Monroe said, as he began transitioning the sofa into a bed.  "Grimms only have two real advantages in their favor: The ability to see what's coming, and their instincts.  You told me once that it was like a knee-jerk reaction, you know, like a feeling in your gut that tells you something."    
  
Monroe knew he wasn't explaining it very well, but he was a Blutbad, damn it, not a Grimm!  Nick had been particularly vague when he described it to him, like it was nothing, but now he wished that he'd asked more questions.  
  
In spite of the older man's weak attempts at explaining it, the detective nodded to himself.  "I think I know what you mean.  I may have lost my memories, but I'm still a Grimm.  I can still see creatures so I must still have my instincts, too.  That's how I knew I'd be safe here."  He twisted in his chair and craned his neck up to look Monroe in the eye.  "That must be why I knew I could trust you.  I mean, you say you're this big bad blutbad, and I can even see that with my own eyes, but...  It doesn't change the way I feel about you."    
  
Monroe had to look away quickly.  His face felt warm, and he knew he was blushing.  He finished making up the bed in silence, although he could feel the detective's heavy gaze on him the entire time.    
  
Steeling his resolve, he turned back to face the younger man, although he still couldn't quite meet his eyes.  "What?  If you have a question, just ask it!  Don't stare at me like that.  It freaks me out."  
  
He raised his own gaze up enough to see that now Nick was the one staring at the floor, a light flush across his cheeks.    
  
"I just - I mean..." Nick floundered for a minute before taking a deep breath and looking at him again with those penetrating eyes.  "Are you sure that we're just friends?  It's just, sometimes when I look at you, I get the feeling that there's more to it than that."    
  
Monroe knew he must look stupid, standing there with his mouth open, but he couldn't help it!  There was that damn little voice again whispering to him to just give in to temptation, just this once...  
  
At last, he cleared his throat and looked away.  "That's a conversation best saved for when you get your memories back, all right?" he replied gruffly.   
  
He retreated (okay, _ran_ ) back to his bedroom to get Nick a pair of pajamas - and to get himself under control.  Even if he doubled up on his pilates, it would be a miracle if he got through this without jumping the younger man.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Apologies for the short fill and the delay in posting. This little bit fought me longer than was necessary, and I've finally decided to post and be done with it. The next chapter I've been planning from the start so hopefully it will come quicker and more easily.

After taking a few calming breaths, Monroe opened his door and started to make his way down the stairs when he heard the sound of Nick's voice. Who was he talking to?   
  
Monroe sniffed the air hesitantly. There didn't seem to be anyone else there. He let the wolf surge forward for a moment anyway, just in case there was a threat, but he relaxed almost instantly. With his sharp hearing, he could just make out Hank's voice, tinny-sounding through the cellphone speaker.   
  
_"I'll tell the captain first thing in the morning. You just feel better, yeah?"_  
  
"Yeah. Soon I hope," Nick answered him.   
  
_"You want me to stop by tomorrow after work? I know things have been rough since Juliette left. I could bring you some soup from the corner diner?"_  
  
"Thanks, but I'm staying with a friend. He's taking really good care of me."  
  
 _"Who?"_  
  
"Monroe."  
  
 _"That weird clock guy? Since when are you two so close?"_  
  
"Ah, that's... First of all, he's not that weird, and secondly, it's...complicated," Nick finished lamely.   
  
_"Sounds like there's a story in there that I need to hear."_ Hank sounded amused.   
  
"Maybe when I'm feeling better, okay?"   
  
_"Fine, keep your secrets, but you know you'll have to tell me eventually. Anyway, I'm meeting Wu for a drink before heading home. It's just paperwork at this point anyway. I'll see you in a few days, all right?"_  
  
"Yeah, see you."  
  
Monroe heard Nick disconnect the call and let out a long sigh, probably of relief. Having a phone conversation with someone you couldn't remember had to be pretty nerve-wracking.   
  
Clearing his throat so as not to surprise the detective, Monroe made his way back into the living room. Nick looked up and gave him a small, hesitant smile.  
  
"I called Hank," he said. "He sounds like a pretty nice guy."   
  
"What did you tell him?"  
  
"That I caught the bug that was going around." Nick grinned at Monroe's inquisitive look. "It's winter. There's _always_ something going around."  
  
Monroe tossed Nick a pair of pajamas to wear with an exasperated sigh. "How is it you know stuff like that, but you can't remember anything else?"  
  
"I dunno," Nick shrugged. "How come I know how to drive a car, but I can't actually remember being behind the wheel before today?"  
  
Monroe didn't have an answer for that. "Yeah, well, when you get your memories back, it's your job to come up with a decent story as to why you're staying with me. You don't exactly walk around advertising our friendship, especially considering that we probably wouldn't have met if you weren't a Grimm."  
  
"I've been meaning to ask you about that. How did we meet?"  
  
Monroe snorted, "You accused me of kidnapping."  
  
"Seriously?"  
  
"Yeah. Some girl went missing in the park. You saw me shift and accused me then and there." He left out the part where he'd been tackled and pinned against his own stairs - that little tidbit of information did nothing for his pride.   
  
"You mean I accused you just because you're a Blutbad?" Nick looked uneasy. "That seems a little..."  
  
"Prejudiced?" Monroe finished for him. "It was. Well, sort of. A Blutbad _was_ responsible, but it wasn't me."   
  
There was a moment of awkward silence.   
  
"Monroe, who's Juliette?"  
  
The older man heaved a deep sigh. "She was your girlfriend until recently. I think the whole Grimm thing was too much for her."   
  
"You think?" Nick pressed. "I didn't tell you exactly why we broke up?"  
  
"Look, you were really upset about," Monroe said, raking a frustrated hand through his hair. "You didn't seem to want to talk about it. All I know is that she left shortly after a Siegbarste broke into your house and nearly killed you two."   
  
"A what?"  
  
"An ogre."  
  
"Oh."   
  
Monroe scanned his companion thoughtfully. Ordinarily, any mention of Juliette would leave the younger man moody and despondent. Now he just seemed...indifferent; curious but unaffected. Well, you couldn't miss someone you couldn't remember, could you?   
  
"Look, try to get some sleep, all right?" Monroe said. "Who knows what we'll find out there in the woods tomorrow. We'll need our rest."


	7. Chapter 7

Monroe couldn't remember the last time he'd had a house guest (discounting Hap). In fact, he was pretty sure that he hadn't slept in the same house with another person since he'd cleaned up his act. He was so used to being alone, that every little noise put him on edge, and Nick apparently couldn't even sleep quietly. He could hear the detective tossing and turning, occasionally mumbling something indistinct. The Blutbad rolled over onto his side and pressed a pillow against his ears in a vain attempt to drown out the sound.   
  
_Of course Nick's the type to talk in his sleep. Why wouldn't he be?_ Monroe thought sarcastically.   
  
He was just beginning to drift off to sleep in spite of the noise, when he heard a startled cry from downstairs. Before he actually had a chance to register the sound, his feet were on the floor, and he was charging down the stairs, red bleeding into his vision. His nose was telling him that no one but himself and Nick were in the house, so he headed immediately to his friend's makeshift bed.   
  
Monroe had seen Nick having a nightmare before. It was when he was in the hospital, after that Siegbarste had beat the crap out of him. His head had been tossing on the pillow, and he'd been letting out soft gasps and whimpers.   
  
If that had been a nightmare, then Nick now seemed to be in the grips of a night terror. He was thrashing about so violently that for a second Monroe was afraid he was having a seizure. Loud cries fell from his lips as he wrestled against whatever demon his imagination had drudged up.   
  
The wolf inside Monroe reared its head momentarily. It knew those sounds. Those were the sounds its prey made before being devoured. The sweet cries of terror and the smell of sweat and exertion as it ran for its life.   
  
Monroe shook his head, trying to clear away the images of his past kills as they flashed before him. At the time he hadn't cared - he'd been proud even! - but now guilt and sorrow gnawed at his insides. Even his inner wolf no longer felt any joy in those memories.   
  
He was pulled immediately back to the present as Nick cried out, "Monroe!"   
  
Monroe spared half a second to wonder if _he_ was the monster in the detective's dreams, but no, that wasn't a cry of terror. It was a plea for help.   
  
"Nick!" Grasping the younger man's flailing limbs, Monroe tried to still him without injuring him. "Nick! Wake up, damn it!"   
  
The detective came awake with a sharp gasp, sitting up in bed so quickly that he narrowly missed knocking their foreheads together. His eyes were wild as they scanned the room around him, drawing deep, gasping breaths into his lungs. Monroe could hear the pounding of his heart, rapid beats of fear.   
  
When his eyes finally settled on Monroe, the Blutbad only had a moment to brace himself before he was being yanked forward. The next thing he knew, he was sprawled awkwardly across both Nick and the bed, the detective's arms and legs wrapped around him like a vice.   
  
"You're all right," Nick was saying. "I thought - " He trailed off with a shudder and buried his face in Monroe's hair.   
  
The older man lay there stiffly, internally flailing. His face was pressed against Nick's neck, and god, he smelled _so good_. He felt his teeth lengthening into fangs unintentionally as he fought down the urge not to bite down on the soft flesh under his nose. He bit his lip instead.   
  
Slowly, he managed to maneuver himself into a somewhat better position, laying beside the younger man and putting his arms around him. The detective instantly snuggled against his chest, arms clinging to Monroe's waist, and the Blutbad could feel Nick's heart still pounding wildly.   
  
After a few moments, Monroe cleared his throat and tried to think of something to say, but damn it! He wasn't good at this sort of thing!   
  
"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked lamely, after a few minutes of what he felt was uncomfortable silence.   
  
For a moment he thought Nick might not respond, but after a moment the detective seemed to give himself a little shake. "I'm not sure what was happening. All I know is that _she_ had you."  
  
"She?"  
  
"The woman I could hear laughing in the woods. I was back out there, and all I wanted to do was run to your house. I couldn't though, because for some reason I knew that she'd got hold of you. I couldn't find you, and I couldn't tell where that awful laughing was coming from." Nick shuddered against his side.   
  
"It was just a dream," Monroe murmured. "It'll be all right."   
  
He felt the platitude fell flat, however, because the threat was a very real one. The last thing he wanted to do was take the shaken detective back into those woods. Perhaps he could slip away at some point and investigate himself?   
  
After awhile he suggested, "Why don't we wait a day or two before going back out there? See if your memory comes back on its own?"   
  
"No!" Nick said vehemently, craning his neck up to stare at Monroe with those piercing eyes. "I have to do this. The journal didn't say anything about the amnesia victims getting their memories back, and I - I _need_ to remember who I am."   
  
The detective dropped his gaze and hesitantly laid a hand against Monroe's chest. The Blutbad almost didn't hear the younger man's next soft words, he was so busy trying to suppress a full-body shudder at the touch.   
  
"Maybe I should go alone."   
  
Monroe huffed out a dark chuckle. "Yeah, not happening, man. There's no way I'm letting you go out there by yourself, especially without your memories. Whatever happens, we do this together."   
  
Nick shifted so his cheek was pressed against Monroe's chest, right over his heartbeat, and his arms went around the older man's waist once more. He was silent for so long that Monroe thought he'd fallen asleep again.  
  
He was just about to (reluctantly) untangle himself from the younger man's grasp and go back to his own bed, when Nick murmured against his chest, "Sleep here?"   
  
Monroe opened his mouth to tell him that that probably wasn't a good idea, but what came out instead was, "Yeah... Yeah, I'll stay."   
  
Resting his chin on top of Nick's head, Monroe stayed awake the rest of the night, senses sharp, listening for any sign of danger.


	8. Chapter 8

Monroe dozed off as the first rays of light began to peek over the horizon, lulled to sleep by Nick's scent and the warm weight of him in his arms.  He dreamed they were running through the woods together, not out of fear but just for the sheer joy of running.  Unlike most of his dreams, this one wasn't filled with moonlight and the adrenaline of the chase.  In fact, there was no chase.  He and Nick ran through the dense forest together, sunlight lighting up the leaves above their heads in a brilliant emerald canopy, sometimes peaking in through in little shafts of golden that warmed their skin and made Nick's eyes shine brighter.  They were equals here - partners - the pounding of their feet almost completely in sync.    
  
When they reached a small clearing, Nick tackled him, laughing.  Ordinarily, this would trigger something in his inner wolf's mind, some long-ingrained instinct to fight back, if only for the dominant position.  However, as they rolled together through the sweet-smelling clover, Monroe felt only laughter bubbling in his throat.  He landed on his back, with Nick grinning above him, the sun shining down above and lighting his face up like a halo.  Monroe gently brought up a hand and caressed his cheek with more tenderness than he had ever used on any of his other lovers.    
  
Nick framed Monroe's face with his hands before leaning down to press a warm kiss against his lips.  Monroe felt a whimper rise up in his throat that was swallowed down by Nick as he kissed him sweetly, almost chastely, with a kiss that was more lips than tongue.    
  
When Nick finally pulled back, the dream had shifted.  They were no longer in the open sunshine but rather in Monroe's own house.  That detail barely registered in his mind, however, because Nick had been _kissing_ him.  Monroe reached up to tangle both hands in the detective's hair and pulled him back down for more, slipping his tongue into Nick's mouth.  He moaned as he got his first real taste of him, and god, did he taste good!    
  
When they finally had to separate again to breathe, however, Monroe found himself aware of one of the springs from the crappy fold-out mattress digging into his back, just this side of painful.  His arm was asleep, too, where Nick had been laying on it, but - this couldn't be real, could it?  
  
Above him, Nick's face was flushed, and he was positively glowing.  "I knew there was something between us," he breathed.    
  
Monroe tried to find it in himself to be annoyed, and perhaps he would have if there had been any smugness in Nick's expression.  However, there was only pure happiness and something that looked suspiciously like love shining in the younger man's eyes.    
  
The Blutbad yanked the detective down to hold him against his chest, burying his face in Nick's hair.  He indulged in a few moments of warm contact and just breathing the other man in.    
  
"That... That wasn't the smartest thing to do," he murmured at last, voice rough.    
  
"And here I thought I was supposed to trust my instincts."  Nick craned his face up to look at him, eyes twinkling.    
  
"Not _those_ instincts!" Monroe growled, but it fell far short of menacing.    
  
He ignored Nick's pout - It was _not_ cute, damn it! - as he untangled himself and headed upstairs to the bathroom.  He tried to get himself under control, but there was only so much a guy could take!  Images of rolling Nick onto his back and just _taking_ were already flashing through his imagination, along with the knowledge that the younger man probably would have let him.  He turned on the shower to drown out the noise as he fisted his hand around his cock, bringing himself off roughly because he knew there would be no getting rid of his morning erection otherwise.    
  
After he'd showered and changed, he headed back downstairs to find Nick waiting for him.  He'd folded the bed back into a couch and had the pillows and blankets folded and stacked neatly beside him.    
  
"Bathroom's free," he said, trying to sound casual.  "I laid out of some clothes that I think will fit you.  We'll go by your house to pick up some things if we're unsuccessful in the woods today."    
  
Nick nodded, but didn't move.  The expression on his face was slightly sheepish as he stared up at the older man.    
  
"Tell me honestly," he said at last, voice soft and sincere.  "Were those our first kisses?"  
  
Ah.  So they would be acknowledging the elephant in the room after all.    
  
Monroe reluctantly nodded, a part of him not wanting to admit it, wanting to keep this part of Nick forever.    
  
Nick's cheeks turned pink as he cast his eyes downward.  "I'm sorry," he murmured.    
  
"Don't be," Monroe said quickly, before his brain had a chance to catch up with his mouth.  He tried to ignore the way the younger man was looking up at him again with something like hope shining in his eyes.  "I just hope you don't regret it when you get your memories back."  
  
Nodding, Nick got up and made his way to the stairs, pausing only to say, "For the record, if I do regret it, then I'm an idiot who doesn't deserve you anyway."    
  
Monroe stood staring at the place where Nick had been, long after the detective had gone up the stairs and into the bathroom.  He heard the water turn on and tried not to think about the fact that Nick was _naked_ somewhere just above him.    
  
Giving himself a shake, the older man headed resolutely into the kitchen.  He needed coffee and lots of it.  Plus, they'd need something substantial for breakfast if they were meant to go exploring out in the woods today.    
  
By the time Nick came back downstairs, Monroe had managed to produce some blueberry pancakes, along with some toasted bagels topped generously with cream cheese.  He'd also scrambled a couple of eggs and made a full pot of coffee.    
  
"This looks amazing!" the detective said.  
  
Monroe watched him enthusiastically tuck in, while he had an internal argument with himself that Nick most certainly did _not_ look good wearing his clothes.  When Nick groaned in appreciation after tasting Monroe's coffee - well, if the older man had to cross his legs under the table, it was nobody's business but his own.    
  
After breakfast, Monroe made up a couple of sandwiches and put them in a backpack with a couple of bottles of water and some fruit.  He also made sure his first-aid kit was well-stocked, as well as adding any survival gear he thought they might need.  Monroe had learned early on that when Nick was involved you couldn't be too prepared.    
  
They drove out to the spot where Nick had originally entered the woods in near silence.  As Monroe shifted his car into park and turned off the engine, the younger man turned to him.    
  
"Ready?" he asked.    
  
_No_ , Monroe's internal voice said belligerently.  _I want to go straight back home, take you to bed, and never let you leave_.    
  
Out loud he said, "Yeah," and got out of the car, getting his backpack from the back seat before locking the doors.  The two of them approached the path leading into the woods side-by-side, pausing when they first got there.    
  
"Well, after you," Monroe said finally.  "You're the idiot who charged in here without backup in the first place.  If you managed to stumble across something once, I'm sure you can do it again."  
  
"Right."  Nick squared his shoulders resolutely and began making his way into the woods.    
  
They walked in silence for a while, Monroe keeping his nose and ears sharp for any hint of danger.  Nick scanned his surroundings, trying to take in any detail that might be familiar.    
  
"At least we know we're looking for a walnut tree," Nick said at last.    
  
"Yeah, because that's _so_ helpful," Monroe replied sarcastically.  "We've passed about a dozen already, and I didn't see or smell anything funny about any of them."  
  
"We have?"  The younger man looked confused.  "I haven't seen any."  
  
"And what do you think that is?" Monroe asked, pointing to the next one they came to.    
  
"Oh."  Nick looked up at the tree dubiously.  "I don't see any walnuts."  
  
"Well, it's a little late in the year for them, isn't it?"  Monroe said, eyes scanning the treetops.  "Wait a second, here's one that's left."    
  
He handed Nick the backpack so he could lift himself up onto a low branch to pluck the one walnut still stubbornly clinging to its tree.  Jumping easily down he held it out to Nick.    
  
" _That's_ a walnut?" he asked skeptically as he eyed the green sphere in Monroe's hand.  "I thought they had, you know, brown shells."    
  
The Blutbad rolled his eyes.  "They do.  This is just the husk."  He peeled away the green bit to reveal the brown nutshell inside.    
  
Nick picked it up, examining it.  "Huh," he said at last.  "Did I know that before?"  
  
"How should I know?" Monroe said, wiping his hands on his jeans from where the inside of the husk had stained his hands brown.  "I can tell you that I don't think there's anything remarkable about that particular walnut.  At least, I don't smell anything out of the ordinary."    
  
"Just how good is your sense of smell?" Nick asked curiously.    
  
"As good as any wolf you'd see in the wild," he said, noting the younger man's grin.  "If you start making dog jokes, I swear I'll leave you out here to fend for yourself."  He continued down the path, ignoring the choked laughter from his companion.    
  
"Something's bugging me," Nick said after a few minutes.  "I seem to have retained most of my basic knowledge.  You know, things like how to drive.  So if I knew what a walnut tree looked like before, shouldn't I still be able to recognize one?"  
  
"Again, how should I know?" the Blutbad said in exasperation.  "Nothing about your current condition makes sense to me."    
  
Nick grabbed his sleeve, abruptly halting them.    
  
"Now what?" Monroe asked.  Nick just pointed.    
  
There, slightly off the path was a walnut tree, (Monroe could tell because of the texture of the bark and the shape of the leaves) but there was something... _unnatural_ about it.  It certainly didn't smell right, and as he stared at it, he realized that the nuts hanging off of it had no husks - just brown shells.  He approached it cautiously, Nick just behind him.    
  
Sniffing the air, Monroe realized that the tree had a distinctly human smell to it, and not just one human either.  Several scents hit him all at once, along with something he'd never smelled before.  It was a damp sort of smell, like dark, fertile soil after the rain, but there was something else that he couldn't quite pin down.    
  
He tensed as he heard the sound of a twig snapping.  An ominous feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as his sharp hearing picked up the sounds of someone approaching.  


	9. Chapter 9

Monroe stepped protectively in front of Nick as a female figure emerged from behind the tree.  At first glance, she seemed completely harmless.  (Then again, so did Monroe.)  She looked middle-aged with dark hair that hung around her shoulders, a few streaks of gray beginning to show.  Her mouth was curved up in a small smile, and there were laugh-lines around her deep blue eyes.  As soon as she saw Monroe, however, her face shifted.    
  
" _Blutbad!_ " she hissed in distaste, her face twisting, nose and chin elongating.  Her eyes flashed violet, and her hair seemed to clump and twist together to resemble tree roots.    
  
Nick stood on his toes, craning to get a good look at her over Monroe's shoulder.  When she noticed him, a shocked look passed over her features, and she dropped back into her human form.    
  
"It's you!" she cried, wringing her hands in distress.  "How did you find me again?  You can't have gotten your memories back - It's just not possible!"    
  
Monroe growled deep in his throat, drawing her attention away from Nick.  His eyes were bleeding red.    
  
Nick placed a hand on his friend's arm and slowly stepped from behind him.  "So you're the one responsible for my amnesia?"  
  
She took a hesitant step back, eying Monroe warily.  "Well...yes.  Wait, what's a Blutbad doing with a Grimm?"  
  
Nick ignored her.  "And those other people that have been turning up with amnesia, you're responsible for that as well?"  
  
"I think you already know the answer to that," she said stiffly.  "So what are you going to do about it - kill me?  Chop off my head?  That seems to be what your kind does, or perhaps you're planning on letting your...'pet' maul me."  
  
Monroe snarled, features shifting as he surged forward faster than any human ever could.  In the blink of an eye, he had the woman pinned against the tree with a clawed hand at her throat.  The woman made a choked gasping sound, hands tugging uselessly at Monroe's.    
  
"Monroe, stop it!" Nick yelled, "You're going to kill her!"  
  
"And?" Monroe growled, fury evident in his features.  
  
"And we need answers!  She can't give them to us if she's dead."  Nick came up behind the Blutbad and tugged at his shoulders.    
  
For a second he didn't move, but then took a deliberate step backward.  He glared at the woman, making it clear that he was only doing this for Nick.    
  
The woman - witch - slumped against the tree, gasping.  Nick gave her a few moments to recover before he began his questioning.    
  
"What are you?" he asked first.    
  
The woman straightened up, eyes darting round, looking for an exit.  Nick thought for a moment that she might be contemplating running, but Monroe gave a low growl from somewhere behind him and that seemed to change her mind.    
  
"I'm a Hexengeist," she said at last.    
  
"Is that some sort of witch?"    
  
"In a way, yes.  We feed on human memories.  We have to consume at least one a year from the time we reach the age of twenty."  
  
Nick furrowed his brow.  "What happens if you don't, er - 'consume'?"    
  
"We die," she said bluntly.    
  
Monroe shifted back to human form, the threat neutralized for the moment.  "Like a Spinnetod?" he asked, somewhat intrigued.    
  
"If only," the witch said bitterly.  "At least they get to grow old, even if they do it too quickly.  No, the memories of others is what keeps our brains working.  Without them, we suffer aneurysms and die instantly."    
  
"So then you're just trying to survive," Nick murmured sympathetically.  "Isn't there any other way?"    
  
"If there were, don't you think I'd have used it by now?" she snapped.  "What, you think I like sucking the memories out of people?  Still, I'm careful.  We're a bit telepathic, you see, and I only take the memories of those individuals who are unhappy with their lives.  Sort of gives them a fresh start, you see."  
  
"And you think leaving them alone and afraid in the woods, with no idea who they really are is any way of helping them!" Monroe exclaimed.    
  
Nick, however, was troubled by her words for a different reason.  "Was I unhappy with my life?  Is that why you chose to take my memories?"  
  
The woman actually looked embarrassed by this.  "Well, if you want me to be honest, then...no, not really.  I mean, I have met happier people in my encounters, but you weren't exactly miserable."    
  
"Then, why - ?"  
  
"Because your a Grimm!" she exclaimed, looking like the answer should have been obvious.  "You would have killed me!"    
  
"No I wouldn't!" Nick protested.  "Right?"  He turned to Monroe, looking for validation.    
  
"Right," Monroe said decisively.  "He doesn't kill, not if he doesn't have to.  He's a cop, so most of the time he just arrests Wesen that break the law."    
  
The Hexengeist suddenly grinned.  "Oh?  And what are you planning on arresting me for, detective?  Have I broken any laws?"  
  
Nick didn't know how to answer that so he changed the subject.  "If you only need one person's memory a year, then why have there been at least six confirmed cases of amnesia?"    
  
"Do you know how memories are prepared for consumption?" she countered.  "It's a long and complicated process that can take years!  Memories can't just be consumed raw!  Well...they _can_ , but it makes them unstable - gets them inside your own head, you see.  You go around consuming raw memories, and suddenly there's thoughts in your head that aren't your own!  They have to be cultivated, like this."    
  
She turned and gestured to the tree behind her.  "The memories go straight into the walnut shells and have to remain there for at least five days for them to ripen."  She touched one of the shells gently.  "But these obviously aren't just regular walnut trees.  They're special, and it takes years for a tree like this to mature to the point where it can support the walnuts.  I move every ten years or so.  At each new place I have to plant a new tree and guard it carefully for years until it's ready.  So you see I have to take several at once to keep me going during the in-between years.  Once the memories are inside the shells, they'll be good forever."    
  
"Then, you still have my memories?" Nick asked, trying not to sound too hopeful.    
  
"Of course I do," she spat out.  "Grimms might as well be Wesen as far as their memories are concerned."  She pulled a walnut out of her pocket, but the shell was an unnatural shade of black.  "Memories of other Wesen are poisonous to us, and apparently Grimms are no different.  You may be basically human, but your memories certainly aren't.  It would kill me to try to eat these."    
  
"Then give them back," Monroe snarled.  "He's no threat to you."  
  
"You expect me to take the word of a Blutbad?" she scoffed.  "My grandmother was eaten by one of your kind!"    
  
Monroe's eyes were turning red again.  "And what's to stop me from just taking it from you?"  
  
"So you can do what with it?" she laughed.  "Crack it open?  That will just lose the memories forever.  There's a very special process involved in restoring someone's memories.  You need my help if you want the Grimm to get his memories back."  
  
Monroe growled deep in his throat, but didn't make any attempt to take the blackened walnut from her.    
  
"What do you want then?" Nick asked quietly.  "There must be something we can offer you in exchange for my memories."  
  
The woman looked them both over critically before answering.  "My life," she said at last.  "That's my price.  You let me take the memories I've harvested, and go.  I'll leave Portland - find somewhere else to cultivate a tree.  I should have enough to last me the years I'll need to grow a new one."    
  
"Fine!" Monroe snapped.  "Now, tell us how to get his memories back."  
  
"Monroe wait," Nick said.  "We can't let her take everyone else's memories just to get mine back.  It wouldn't be right."  
  
The Blutbad turned to his friend with a sigh.  "Nick, she's not going to help us otherwise, and you _have_ to get your memories back.  You're a Grimm.  That means your walking around with a target on your back.  You managed to get into enough trouble back when you had your memories, but like this, you're totally defenseless!"    
  
Turning back to the Hexengeist, Monroe said, "You have a deal.  Now, give Nick his memories back, and we'll let you go."  
  
"How stupid do you think I am?" she laughed.  "What's to stop you killing me once you have what you want?  No, I take _all_ the memories with me and go.  You give me a three day head start to get the hell out this city, and then I'll release his memories.  Where the memories are released doesn't matter.  They'll still find their way back into the right mind...if it's done correctly, that is."    
  
"You must think _we're_ stupid then," Monroe snarled, "if you think you're going anywhere with Nick's memories."  
  
"You don't have choice," the woman said smugly.  "If you kill me or keep me here against my will, you'll never get them back."  
  
Monroe stepped forward, face shifting once more.  In spite of her proud speech, the witch shrank back against the tree in fear as the Blutbad came toward her.  He leaned in and inhaled deeply.    
  
"I've got your scent now," he growled.  "If Nick's memories aren't restored in three days time I'll hunt you down and tear you apart.  Wherever you go, no matter how well you hide, I'll find you you.  Understand?"  
  
She nodded, pale, and began hurriedly plucking the walnuts off the tree as soon as Monroe stepped back and gave her room.  Nick watched her, a helpless feeling settling in his gut.    
  
"Then you're just going to keep on stealing people's memories?" he asked softly.    
  
The woman stiffened from where she was shoving the nuts into her pockets, her back to him.  "What would you have me do?" she asked just as softly.  "I'm only forty-five.  I'm not ready to die yet, but...I know I can't go on like this forever."  She turned and fixed Nick with a stare that was slightly tinted with violet.  "I haven't any family left, and I have no children.  If there are any other Hexengeist out there, then I've never met them.  For all I know, I'm the last of my kind.  When I turn eighty, after I have all my affairs in order, I'll give up taking memories and let myself die."  She drew herself up straight, a hard look of determination on her face.  "But until that day comes, I'll fight with everything I have to live.  I don't expect you to condone it, but I hope you can at least understand my actions."    
  
Nick felt a twinge of sympathy for her, in spite of himself, and nodded.  He wasn't sure what he would do if he were in her situation.  He'd like to think he'd take the high road, but if the high road involved giving up his own life at the age of twenty, well... he just didn't know.    
  
As he and Monroe turned and began to make their way back to the car, he heard the woman call out to him.    
  
"You dropped this when you were running," she said, holding out his badge to him.  "I'll leave your gun for you in the Blutbad's mailbox before I leave town."    
  
Nick slowly took it from her and asked suddenly, "What's your name?"  
  
She gave him a small, sad smile.  "I change it every time I move, but my birth name is Mneme.  It's Greek for 'memory.'  That's where we're from, originally, Greece."  
  
When they got back to the car, Monroe said, "Why did you ask her name?"  
  
Nick shrugged.  "I dunno.  I felt sorry for her."  
  
"Of course you did," Monroe said, rolling his eyes, but his tone was more fond than exasperated.  "Do you think she'll really give you back your memories, or will I have to make good on my promise?"  
  
The younger man was silent for a moment, mulling the question over.  "I think she will," he said at last.  "You know those instincts I'm supposed to trust?  Well, they're telling me that she'll keep her word."    
  
"I hope so," the Blutbad replied as he started the engine.  "I've given up mauling, and I'd hate to have to lapse after all this time."  


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N (PLEASE READ): Okay, first I'd like to apologize that it's taken me so long to post something. In all honesty, the previous chapter took on a mind of its own. I had intended it to be either the last or second-to-last chapter, where Nick and Monroe battle the Wesen witch (who was SUPPOSED to be evil), Nick kicks ass, Monroe was awesome, and Nick gets his memories back. For those of you who've been following this story, you know that didn't happen.
> 
> I was trying to come up with a reason why the witch would steal memories, and then when I made one up, I started feeling sorry for her. (Much like I felt REALLY sorry for Charlotte the Spinnetod.) Anyway, that led to this whole letting her get away deal and it taking three days for Nick to get his memories back.
> 
> After I posted, I literally went: "Wait - Three days?! Holy crap! What the heck am I supposed to do with them for THREE DAYS?!?!" *flails*
> 
> Anyway, now that my author's note has officially become longer than my pathetically short mini-mini-fill, I'm looking for suggestions. What do you want to see happen during the three days? How close should Nick and Monroe become during that time? Do you want to see more of Mneme or should she be gone for good? Please suggest anything you want - I have no intention of abandoning this fic, but I'm getting a little desperate here!

Things were silent in the car.  In a way, Monroe felt that the afternoon's events had been rather anticlimactic - he'd been ready for a fight, after all.  _Still, no violence is a_ good _thing_ , he reminded himself, but it just didn't sit right with him that they were letting some woman run off with Nick's memories.  He glanced over at Nick, noticing that the younger man seemed lost in thought.    
  
On an impulse, he turned right instead of left at the next stop sign he came to.  After a minute or so, Nick gave a little start realizing that he no longer recognized his surroundings.  
  
"Where are we going?" he asked.  
  
"Thought we'd swing by your place and pick up a few things," Monroe said, trying for nonchalant.  As much as he hated the thought of Nick no longer wearing his clothes, the fact was that he liked the sight a little too much.  If he was going to have to endure another three days of Nick staying with him, then he was going to need all the help he could get to control himself.    
  
Beside him, Nick shrugged.  "Sounds good.  I've kind of been curious to see where I live anyway."  He paused, and Monroe noted out of the corner of his eye that a worried expression now graced his features.  "I can still stay with you though, right?  I mean, I know I'm getting my memories back in a few days, but - "  
  
"You're staying with me," Monroe cut him off quickly.  "No way am I going to leave you on your own without your memories.  There's no telling what trouble you might get into."    
  
Monroe turned onto Nick's street and found a place to park.  He'd only ever been to the detective's house once, and that was just to drop off some information for a case.  At the time, Juliette had still been living there so Nick had met him at the door.  The Blutbad was actually pretty curious himself to see what Nick's place was like.    
  
It was a nice house, Monroe decided once they were inside, but it was painfully obvious that Nick hadn't decorated it.  Little feminine touches were still evident even though the female occupant had long ago moved out.    
  
"It seems...empty," Nick said at last, and it was true.  Here and there were empty places on the walls where paintings likely hung, and there was too much empty space on the floor where furniture had probably stood.    
  
"Come on," Monroe said, clapping a hand on Nick's shoulder to steer him toward the stairs.  "Let's pack you a bag, and then get home.  Maybe we'll stop off and get some Chinese food on our way back.  I don't feel like cooking tonight."  


End file.
